


Apple Tarts and Beating Hearts

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M, Modern Thedas, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: After a hard day of working in the Lowtown Warden Outpost, Anders unwinds by watching his favorite ASMR channel, Vint-ner. Vint-ner's soothing voice eases Anders's mind, but when he meets Fenris, the man behind the channel, Anders is fascinated. Vint-ner is all gentle words on camera, but Fenris is as prickly as a porcupine. Anders is determined to unravel the mystery that is Fenris, and Fenris is more than willing to let Anders try.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this story for months now, and I hope that posting this first chapter will encourage me to write the rest of it.

Anders catches the 6 AM subway, Route Red, every weekday morning. It’s mostly empty then. Most commuters will catch the 8 AM into Lowtown, when the sun is finally up over the city. The clinic technically wouldn’t open until 9, but Anders liked coming in early. It was quiet in the early hours, and there were less people on the subway. For the fifteen minutes it took to get from his apartment to the clinic, Anders could sit back with his earbuds in and watch videos online. And he always came back to the same channel to watch one person in particular.

Vint-ner was an ASMR video producer. He had a voice like dark chocolate, smooth and decadent with just enough bitterness to keep it from being cloyingly sweet. He had a brilliant way of making his videos calming and enjoyable. Vint-ner spoke softly as he chopped up vegetables or stirred liquids in a bowl, his hands always moving at a steady pace. He had nice hands, too. Strong, dark skinned, lined with pale tattoos that flashed on screen every time he chopped a bell pepper or stirred a sauce- they were nice hands! Anders would curl up in his seat, lean against the window, and watch and listen as Vint-ner whipped up culinary delights.

Today Vint-ner was chopping up butternut squash.

“Fall has come early, where I live,” Vint-ner murmurs into his microphone as the knife sinks into the thick skinned squash with a -shick thud- sound. Vint-ner’s voice is steady and soothing, and Anders sinks into his seat and watches.

“I am used to hotter climates. It is too early to wear a jacket,” Vint-ner complains, but there’s a tinge of humor to his voice, “but I was never one to follow the dictates of fashion. But I am cold when I step out of doors. I’m told it gets colder further south. I pray I will never have to experience a Ferelden winter. The Free Marches have been cold enough! But now that we’ve peeled and cut our squash into reasonably sized cubes, we must set it aside and chop up an onion.”

Anders watched as Vint-ner chopped the onion, and then a red bell pepper. He talked the whole while, soothing and soft into his mic. Anders felt his breathing slow as he watched. His body relaxed, tense muscles in his shoulders and back easing up as Vint-ner spoke. When he finally reached his stop, Anders exited the video, pocketed his phone and let his earbuds swing from the collar of his scrubs, and hurried out of the subway and down the street to the clinic. It was going to be a busy, stressful day, but after listening to Vint-ner, Anders felt a little more prepared to face it.

And so Anders followed the same routine day in, day out. It didn’t matter if he was coming into the clinic for a morning shift or working late nights, when Anders rode the subway to and from his apartment, he watched Vint-ner and relaxed. Maybe some people took “Me Time” by running a bubble bath, but Anders only had a shower in his closet of an apartment. Maybe other people burned a scented candle, but Anders’s landlord forbid the use of candles in his apartment complex. Maybe others curled up with a good book or went out with friends, and Anders did both regularly, but in truth nothing quite eased his mind and made his worries melt away like listening to Vint-ner murmur into his microphone and cook. So he put in his earbuds, settled into his seat in the subway, and watched his favorite internet chef whisper into his microphone and concoct mouth-watering dishes that dazzled the eyes and made Anders wish there was such a thing as Smell-O-Vision. Perhaps there was a charm for that. He’d have to consider it sometime, when he wasn’t so tired from working nights and double shifts.

Anders was busy washing his hands in the cramped bathroom of the Darktown Clinic when he heard the bell at the front door tinkle merrily, followed by the low rumble of Justice greeting whoever had walked through the door. Anders quickly wiped his hands off on a paper towel, crumpled it into a tiny ball, and tossed it into the tiny trash bin in the corner.

“Back to the lyrium mines,” Anders muttered before smoothing out his standard blue and grey Warden scrubs and adjusting his nametag. The winking orange kitten sticker on his nametag seemed to smile sappily back at him in the mirror’s reflection. Anders grinned and poked at the sticker.

“Right back atcha, kitty,” Anders said, and he exited the room and hurried past the main desk, where Feynriel, their summer intern turned receptionist, sat behind a computer and looked up from the screen to greet Anders.

“Warden Anders!” Feynriel said cheerfully when he caught sight of him, “Right on time! Warden Justice took a patient to the examination room.” Feynriel was a good kid, a bright eyed, bushy tailed Mage who wanted to become a doctor and figured that joining the Wardens was his chance to achieve his dreams. He was probably right. After all, Anders made that same choice many years ago.

“Thanks, Feynriel,” Anders replied, and he walked through the exam room doors to greet his patient.

Justice was already inside, looking at the patient’s medical history on the computer while the patient sat in the medical chair. Anders looked over the patient and groaned.

“Hawke, what did you do now?” Anders asked as he shut the door behind him. Sitting on the seat before him was Hawke, grinning his trademark grin, though it was a little strained. The man was enormous, tall with broad shoulders. Beefy. His dark hair curled over his eyes and his thick beard was a little longer than usual. He was probably working on another big story again, and had gotten a little roughed up in the process.

Andraste’s Tits, Hawke had better not have broken into some condemned building again. Anders did not need to deal with Kirkwall’s Guardsmen bursting into the clinic and frightening off any other patients. The locals were just getting used to having the Grey Warden healing clinic, and to have all that work undone by a few overzealous guards-

“Anders! Just the healer I wanted to see,” Hawke said cheerfully, but he winced when Justice took his right arm and gently prodded at the wrist.

“Broken, I’m certain of it,” Justice said gravely, his bright blue eyes flashing over to Anders. “Doctor Anders?”

“Just Anders, Justice, we’re all friends here,” Anders replied, and he diplomatically ignored Justice’s quiet snort of disapproval. Justice had always found Hawke a little too bold for his tastes, but kept the peace for Anders’s sake. Anders liked Hawke’s brash personality most of the time. The man was larger than life, in more than the physical sense, and he was a good friend. Who else would volunteer their time and meager funds to help keep the non-perishable food stocked for those in need? Who else brought in gently worn winter gear? And Anders never forgot the ‘mysterious’ gifts of toys and books during the last outbreak of Chokedamp, when the waiting room was full of miserable children with running noses and fevers. If only Hawke was a little less prone to causing trouble! Anders clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and 

“So, a broken wrist,” Anders said as he took Hawke’s arm in his hands and began to examine the joint, lightly pressing against the skin. “Not a fracture, not breaking the skin- looks like a clean break.”

“Damn well didn’t feel like one,” Hawke muttered as Anders worked. “Fuck! Do you have to press so hard?”

“Sorry,” Anders murmured. “It didn’t get knocked out of place, I’m impressed.” Hawke wasn’t exactly a careful sort of man, and Anders had come to expect his visits to the clinic on a weekly basis. This wasn’t even the worst injury Hawke had endured. There was the time he got into a fight with a gang of pickpockets down on King’s Way and got a knife wound in the shoulder, or the time he fought off a man harassing Merrill at the library and sustained a concussion, or- well, the point was that Hawke was injury-prone and tended to think he was invincible. So the fact that Anders didn’t have to realign the bones before getting to work healing Hawke was new.

“He came in with a splint. It was well done,” Justice explained, and he pointed to the pile of elastic bandages, tape, and the two wooden dowels on the counter. They were basic materials, but whoever set the splint clearly knew what they were doing if Justice thought it was a good splint. Anders had to admire that. Justice was even more of a perfectionist than he was, and when it came to healing Anders expected nothing less than perfection.

“Yeah, new bartender at Isabela’s bar wrapped it,” Hawke explained as Anders held his forearm and wrist in place. “Sullen guy, but he’s pretty cute. Got a nice ass, long legs, big, sad eyes- do all elves have sad eyes?”

“Eh, unlikely. Our Commander, Surana, constantly looked pissed off. Nice guy, though,” Anders commented before easing into his magic and knitting the bones in Hawke’s wrist back together. “How did this happen in the first place?”

“Was at Isabella’s bar, some assholes were starting trouble, and I jumped in to stop it. One of the bastards slammed a stool over my wrist, but we all got it handled,” Hawke replied, wincing as Anders’s magic sparked across his hairy wrist. Anders felt his magic course through him and into Hawke, digging into the skin and flesh to hit the bone and magically fuse what was broken back together. It was a delicate business, healing what was broken. If a Mage wasn’t trained properly, if they didn’t know their anatomy, there was the risk of gluing together things that shouldn’t be glued together, and causing more damage than before.

“So we should expect more visitors to the clinic, then,” Justice said dryly. “I’ll get the other examination room ready.” Justice walked out of the exam room and shut the door behind him. Anders sighed and let his magic fizzle out the moment he felt the bone knit back together. Hawke rotated his wrist experimentally and winced.

“It’s still sore,” Hawke complained, and Anders chuckled.

“I’m not going to make it like it never even happened. Your own body can take care of the rest. If I healed it completely you could have all sorts of side effects, like-” Anders explained patiently for what had to be the hundredth time, but Hawke interrupted him.

“Yeah, yeah, I could accidentally grow more bones or lose feeling in my fingers or something else, blah blah,” Hawke retorted. “So should I get all splinted up again or…?”

“Wrist brace. Ice for soreness. Do some light wrist exercises to build up strength. Please don’t punch anything for a while,” Anders teased as Hawke jumped out of the chair. “I can’t heal everything, after all.”

“You’re a miracle worker and a saint, Anders,” Hawke said with a grin on his face. “See you at Isabela’s tonight?”

“No,” Anders replied, “Sorry. Going to relax at home, try to get some sleep.” He opened the door to the waiting room and escorted Hawke out of the clinic. He felt a little guilty for turning Hawke down. Hawke wasn’t the type of man who took offense to such things, but Anders liked Hawke, and hated saying no to him. Normally meeting up at Isabela’s or the Hanged Man for a few drinks with friends was a welcome escape, but Anders was… well, he was tired. Taking subway back to his apartment already felt overwhelming. Going out to socialize was just too much at the moment.

“No problem, you look exhausted,” Hawke said sympathetically, and he clapped his uninjured hand on Anders’s shoulder. “Get some rest. Bubble bath, cuddle your cat, watch a movie, eat ice cream?”

“All wonderful suggestions, Hawke, but I’ll cuddle Pounce and sleep,” Anders said. “I’ll be fine. Have fun with Isabela, and keep that wrist in a brace. Come by next week so I can check up on it.”

“Yessir, Warden Anders,” Hawke replied with a wink, and then he was gone. Anders chuckled and returned to the exam room to clean things up and wait for another patient. As he cleared off his counters, he touched the bright lyrium blue elastic bandages and medical tape that made up Hawke’s splint.

Well done, Justice had said, and Anders wondered if Isabela’s new bartender was going to be working tonight. Maybe he’d go in on Friday evening, introduce himself, thank him for making his job easier- but that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Anders just couldn’t help his curiosity, really. Knowledge in emergency medicine wasn’t as common as it should be, in Anders’s opinion. He wanted to know where this bartender learned to splint broken bones. He wanted to compare techniques- and that sounded far too nerdy and desperate than he meant it to, but Anders liked talking about his work, even the gory, technical details. He wouldn’t be a healer if he didn’t love it, and Anders loved it.

It also helped that Anders was good at his work, but still. Healing was important to him. If only it weren’t so mentally and physically draining!

Anders spent the rest of the day seeing patients and doing what he does best: heal. He works until the sunlight dips under the skyline of Kirkwall. He works until the electric lights buzz to life on the streets outside. He works until Justice knocks on the door and says “you’re off the clock, go get some rest before you break labor laws.” Anders smiles, pulls on his thick down jacket, and heads out into the streets. He sticks his earbuds into his ears, puts on the latest video from Vint-ner (Homemade Salsa), and waits for his subway.

“I wish I had a garden here, but my apartment is small,” Vint-ner murmured into his microphone, “and I can only grow herbs on my windowsill.” Anders smiles and listens as Vint-ner talks about the vegetables he’s selected for the salsa, and how they can be substituted with other fruits and vegetables to taste. When the subway came, Anders hopped onto a car, swiped his pass, and sat down on a seat and waited for his stop. As the train swept through the tunnels and Vint-ner talked about cooking to the soothing, constant sound of him chopping through vegetables, Anders looked around the subway at the thin crowd of people in the subway car with him. And then he saw him. Him. He was gorgeous!

A surprisingly tall elf stood across the aisle from Anders. He was holding the pole with one hand and looking down at his phone. His dark hands were covered in pale tattoos, and his long fingers tapped against the screen elegantly. The light of the screen illuminated his face, bringing his features to life. And what a face! Anders couldn’t help but be drawn to the man’s incredible eyes. They were a shade of olive green flecked with gold and ringed with long, dark lashes. A man could drown in eyes like that and die happy, Anders thought, and felt more than a little ridiculous. It didn’t help that the rest of the man was as beautiful as his eyes. He had strong features: he had an angular jawline, a stern-looking, aquiline nose, sharp cheekbones, dusky brown skin, thick, dark eyebrows, a pretty mouth- the man was intimidatingly stunning. A shock of bone white hair stuck out from underneath his dark skull cap and lay awkwardly against his forehead, and Anders’s fingers twitched with the urge to tuck that lock of hair back behind the man’s ears. Anders realized, to his utter horror, that he was staring. Staring! Anders averted his eyes, but he wasn’t nearly quick enough. He had been noticed. The man- Maker help him!- glowered at him from across the subway car. Even that expression was painfully pretty on his gorgeous face. 

Anders quickly looked down at his phone, where Vint-ner was chopping up a bunch of cilantro. Anders detested cilantro, but Vint-ner somehow made it sound delicious as he described the smell and taste. His dark hands, broad palmed, long fingered, capable, impressive, held down a tomato as he cut through it. The light caught the pale lines of his tattoos, a familiar sight for Anders- wait. Those tattoos. Anders glanced up at the elf standing across from him. He caught sight of the hand holding onto the pole. Dark skin. Pale tattoos. The same pale tattoos on Vint-ner’s hands were on subway man’s hands. They were the same hands, and-

“Is there a problem?” Vint-ner’s crisp voice asks coolly, and Anders freezes in his seat as the elf approaches him. Shit, fuck, shit fuck shit shit shit! The elf was Vint-ner! Vint-ner was this elf! And he did not look happy.

“No!” Anders squeaks out. “No, there’s no problem, I uh-”

“Hmmm?” Vint-ner raised one dark eyebrow. He had wrinkles in the space between his eyebrows. He seemed like the type who glowered constantly. Vint-ner’s glare was quite the contrast to his soothing voice!

“I like your voice- I mean work! Your cooking videos, I mean,” Anders stuttered, and every word he uttered made him want to kick himself. Why did he say that? Why did he _say_ that?! Anders panicked further when Vint-ner’s gorgeous eyes widened in surprise. The light on the train blinked, alerting Anders that his stop was fast approaching. Anders ducked past Vint-ner

“Sorry! Sorry! Just, uh-” Anders fumbled as he tried to exit the train and Vint-ner’s all-knowing stare, “I’m sorry for bothering you, have a nice day!” And as he stumbled out of the train doors, Anders cursed at himself.

It was _night_! Why did he always say the dumbest things? He always said the dumbest things! Anders hurried out of the subway tunnel and down the sidewalk, following his memorized route to his apartment, not paying attention to what was in front of him. He opened his apartment door, walked inside, shut it, turned the lock, and took his last few steps to the couch in front of him. And as his cat, Pounce, leapt on top of his back, Anders realized that Vint-ner’s latest video, Salsa (Because I Miss Summer), was still playing in his ears. Vint-ner, who apparently lived in Kirkwall and was gorgeous. Vint-ner, who saw Anders act like a complete idiot on the train. Vint-ner, who apparently rode the same train line as Anders at the same time.

Maker’s Balls.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on finishing this by Valentine's Day, but then the second chapter kept growing until I realized I would have to split it for reasons. My apologies!

The problem with realizing that he shared the same train line and schedule with the man who had been keeping his anxiety in check for the past year or so was that Anders couldn’t exactly shift his schedule around to avoid him. Oh, Maker’s Sainted Balls he tried, but Anders took Route Red for a reason- it delivered him exactly where he needed to go at the precise times he needed to be there. Sure, he could transfer to the Green Line, but that was a whole block away and after a day of being on his feet Anders doubted that his body could take any further abuse.

So, changing the line was out of the question. And the time… well, Anders tried that. He started leaving the clinic later than usual, glancing around furtively to try and ensure that _he_ wasn’t secretly taking the same car, but this extra vigilance was exhausting. Constantly playing lookout for a pair of stunning green eyes and a shock of pale hair was taking its toll on Anders’s well being. Every octogenarian and pastel goth teenager made Anders jump out of his skin until he realized “ah, no, too short,” or “nope, not him.” Even Justice, who was notoriously terrible at recognizing people’s discomfort, noticed Anders’s tattered sense of security.

“I believe that you are experiencing increased stress, Anders,” Justice said calmly as they cleaned up the clinic to prepare for the next shift of healers. Justice was prone to stating his opinions boldly and plainly, letting them sit in the air as uncomfortable statements that must be addressed. He looked at Anders expectantly, his lyrium blue eyes bright and assessing.

“What made you think that?” Anders asked.

“You haven’t made one joke today, for one,” Justice replied patiently. “You drank three mugs of tea instead of your usual one. You have that furrow in between your brows that you get when you’re stressed. And you keep checking the clock. What happened?”

Anders sighed. There was no use in lying to Justice. Justice might not understand other people and their motivations, but he had an unnatural tendency to know exactly what was going on in Anders’s head. What was worse was that Justice was unlikely to let Anders be. He was going to sit in his office chair, or stand by a counter, and just _look_ at Anders until he cracked and told him everything.

Ah, well. Maybe talking would help ease the anxious knot rolling around in his stomach like a piece of driftwood in a stormy sea.

“You know those videos I watch on our downtime? The cooking ones?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes. ASMR,” Justice replied, “I recall that you find them relaxing.”

“Yeah, well, I met the guy who makes them on the subway, and I made a complete fool of myself,” Anders muttered. “So I’m just working through that and trying to figure out how to rearrange my train schedule to avoid him. D’you think there’s a post in Amaranthine I can take?” He meant it as a joke, but Justice seemed to take Anders’s comment seriously if his frown was anything to go by. He pulled his locs back into thick tail at the base of his neck and tied it off with a headband. Justice always played with his hair when he was thinking through things. They had been working together for so long that Anders kept a collection of headbands and ties in the clinic in case Justice needed to pull his hair back and have a good think. Never hurt to be prepared, after all. Justice had a lot of thoughts.

“A transfer is unlikely. You know we’re short on competent healers in the region, and Surana’s unlikely to remove one of the most talented healers in the ranks from the place where they’re most needed,” Justice said slowly, “But if you beg enough- no. That would be shirking your responsibilities, Anders.” Justice looked over at Anders then, lyrium blue eyes flashing in the fluorescent light. Anders barely held back his reflexive wince. He knew what Justice was thinking. The unspoken words were ringing in his ears- you wouldn’t abandon your post now, would you?

“Fine, so a transfer is out,” Anders muttered. “I wasn’t serious about that, you know.”

“Mmmm,” Justice replied, and Anders returned to looking through patient files to prepare for the day. The repetitive work was soothing, and Anders was in desperate need of something menial and mindless to do just to keep his mind from spiraling into panic. Normally he would pop his earbuds in and listen to an ASMR video, but now? Now he couldn’t even watch or listen to Vint-ner’s videos to relax, because as soon as he saw those hands and heard that voice a bubble of panic rose up in his throat. How was Anders supposed to calm down when all he could think of was how he made a fool of himself in front of Vint-ner? Andraste’s Tits, the man probably thought Anders was a stalker!

“Anders? Anders!” Justice’s voice pulled Anders out of his gloomy thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh. Sorry, Justice, was thinking,” Anders said sheepishly. Lost in his twisted, anxiety-laden thoughts.

“I forgot to mention that Hawke came by this morning. Insisted that we are invited to go drinking at Isabela’s bar tonight and play Wicked Grace,” Justice informed him. “And while I am busy-”

“Saving orphans and writing scathing political commentary,” Anders teased.

“I recall that you were the one who organized the last two food drives, Anders,” Justice remarked. Anders shrugged.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” he retorted, “I’ve always been a selfish bastard until you showed up and started insisting on me doing good deeds or whatever.” 

Anders admired Justice for his devotion to the needs of others. Anders had always been a little bit selfish, always looking out for himself before others because sometimes there was just too much need in the world. What could one person even do against it? But Justice was on a one-man crusade to change the world for the better, and nothing seemed to slow him down.

“Back to the point, I think you should go,” Justice stated. “It will help you avoid the elf you wish to avoid, and you have put in more than enough hours this week. You need time to unwind as well.”

“Yeah, Yeah. I’ll think about it,” Anders mumbled, and he returned to his filing. Yet as the sun set and he pulled his down jacket on to head outside, Anders thought about what Justice said. Maybe going out _would_ be good for him. It would be something to do, and it would be… well, it could be nice.

“See you tomorrow, Justice,” Anders called out, and when Justice said his goodbyes Anders shuffled out of the clinic’s doors. He made his way down the block until he reached the subway station and hopped onto the next train. He pressed his forehead against the glass window and watched the fluorescent lights in the tunnel flash by. It was a soothing sight. The train rocked slightly under him, and Anders shut his eyes for a moment. 

He was so tired. He hadn’t promised that he’d attend Wicked Grace night- Anders had skipped it for the last month, giving his litany of excuses: too tired, working, taking Pounce to the vet, and (in a shocking moment of truthfulness) horribly, awfully sick with a cold. Hawke and the others probably expected him to skip out on them again. They probably wouldn’t even miss him- maybe he could get off on another stop, take another route, and go back to his apartment. Then he could cuddle Pounce, eat some leftovers, and binge watch whatever was on the television. It would probably be reruns, but that wasn’t too bad. Then he could fall asleep on the couch with Pounce on his stomach. That would be nice.

On the other hand, however, going out would be a change of pace. It would be nice to see his friends after so long. Maybe he could commiserate over his awkwardness with Hawke and Isabela, enjoy a drink or two, and then go back home- thank the Maker he invested in that timed feeder for Pounce. Emergencies at the clinic happened, and Anders hated the thought that his cat would have to wait for hours for his dinner. He’d get Pounce a can of the wet food tomorrow, he promised himself, and he pulled himself out of his seat as the train pulled up to the platform. He hopped out and made his way up the stairs and down the street towards Isabela’s place.

Isabela’s bar was crowded. It usually was. The air was warm, and Anders peeled his coat off as he wove between tables and groups of people, searching for Hawke’s familiar face in the crowd of patrons. Luckily, Hawke was easy to find. You just followed the sound of the loudest booming laugh and you’d find him.

“Anders! You made it!” Hawke called out from his seat at a round table shoved into a corner. Hawke loomed over the table and his multiple companions like a great mountain. Anders searched for an open spot at the table, and found it between Varric and- oh, Merrill! That was a surprise. Anders pulled out his chair and set his coat on the back before settling down between Merrill and Varric. 

“Anders! We haven’t seen you in ages!” Merrill exclaimed, sounding utterly delighted (but slightly muffled). She was wrapped up in a thick green peacoat and a bright blue scarf with silver sparkling yarn shot through it. It was nearly impossible to see her face under the layers of colorful wool.

“I’ve been busy,” Anders replied. “But it’s nice to see you, Merrill.” 

Varric elbowed Anders’s side. “Nice to see you too, Blondie. Glad that Justice hasn’t worked you to death.” he said, and Anders grinned. His friends had missed him after all! Perhaps his anxiety over coming here was a little overblown. Hadn’t Hawke and the others always made him feel welcome? Safe? He settled into his chair and let the group conversation roll over him. Soon, others joined them at the table: Sebastian, that Chantry brother friend of Hawke’s, and Aveline, the Kirkwall guardswoman who was working on outreach programs in Darktown. Isabela popped by their table to chat for a moment before flitting away again. Anders let the conversation flow, occasionally contributing to a conversation or two when he was drawn into it. But mostly, Anders just relaxed. Someone, and Anders suspected Varric, put a glass of beer in his hand before shuffling a deck of cards between his hands. Anders played a round, lost horribly, played another round, did even worse, and sat out on the next two. He was half asleep at the table when Isabela passed by.

“Hey, sweet thing,” Isabela said, “heard you wanted to meet my new hire.” She leaned against the table and put her hand on Anders’s shoulder. The weight of her hand on his shoulder was comforting, and Anders leaned his head back to look blearily up at her.

“Oh, yeah,” Anders replied absently. “That was a good splint.” It was a damn good splint, if it managed to keep Hawke from jostling his bones (the man could never hold himself still). It was almost as good as one he could make. Did Isabela’s new bartender have emergency first aid training? Anders had been thinking of offering some courses- maybe they could rent out a room at the community center in Darktown? Huh. Something to think about. Anders filed the thought in the back of his head and returned his attention to the conversation topic at the table- Isabela’s new bartender.

“Oh, Fenris is working tonight?” Sebastian asked politely. “I didn’t see him at the bar.”

“It’d be hard to spot him anyhow,” Aveline muttered, “what with this crowd.”

“I hope he’s here, I promised to give him a schedule for activities at the Alienage! We’re running a class on growing your own vegetable garden in a small space!” Merrill exclaimed. “I brought fliers!” She emphasized her point by scattering a pile of brightly colored paper on the table.

“He just came in to fill in for someone,” Isabela replied. “And here he is! The pretty boy!” She flitted into the crowd and returned with a tall elvhen man on her arm. Well, to be more accurate she was clutching his arm in her iron grip, and he looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else- and he looked terribly familiar. Anders’s heart sank into his shoes as he looked upon the beautifully aristocratic face of Vint-ner. And based on his shocked expression, Vint-ner recognized him too.

“Anders, meet Fenris. Fenris, this is Anders, that healer we’ve all been telling you about,” Isabela explained merrily over the dull roar of panic that filled Anders’s ears.

“Ah. Anders,” Vint-ner/Fenris said slowly, his voice rich and low and _amazing_. “The one who organized the ‘Fuck the Chantry’ protest two months ago and ended up on the front page of the newspaper? That Anders?”

Anders hardly knew what to say to that. Yes? Yes, and there’s another protest next month? Yes, and I’m organizing some classes on paths to citizenship for refugees with my coworker? Yes, and also you’re very attractive want to go protest with me sometime? Fuck, what do you say?!?!

Medical school and Warden basic training never covered this.

“That… that would be me,” Anders admitted, and when Fenris only raised an eyebrow he wanted to crawl under the table.

“I see,” Fenris replied flatly before turning to Isabela. “I’ll get to work. Two hours, and I get overtime for the short notice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isabela said, “get to work, I’ll join you in a sec.” Fenris turned his attention to Anders once more, pinning him to his seat with those green eyes and assessing gaze. And then he was gone, pushing through the crowd to make his way to the bar, taking off his jacket as he went. Anders released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and slumped in his chair.

“Well, he hates me,” he announced. Fenris had eyes that could pierce the soul, olive green and gold and so world-weary and sharp- Anders felt stripped bare in seconds.

“Nah, that’s just Fenris,” Hawke replied. “He’s pretty spare with his words, I’m sure he thinks you’re great, Anders!”

“Or he will, when he gets to know you, Blondie,” Varric chimed in. Anders shook his head.

“Look, I’ve met him before. Was a total idiot in front of him. He hates me,” Anders asserted, and he looked up at Isabela pleadingly.

“I need another drink, please,” Anders begged. Isabela smiled, patted his shoulder, and made her way back to her bar.

“It can’t be that bad, Anders,” Merrill consoled. “Have I told you about the time I had to buy blood from the butcher to help fertilize the plants in my allotment plot, but then I spilled it in the car park and it just ran down the hill? And then someone called the Guard? It was rather funny, now that I think of it, because that nice guardsman, the one with the sideburns, Aveline?”

“Donnic,” Aveline muttered.

“Oh yes. Donnic. Well he was very understanding and even suggested I try blood meal instead. He’s very nice, isn’t he Aveline?” Merrill asked, smiling brightly. Anders was probably imagining the glitter of mischief in her eyes, but with Merrill you could never be sure. She noticed things, often sooner than anyone else did.

“Yes. He’s very nice. But back to Anders and Fenris,” Aveline said hastily, “Fenris is short with everyone, Anders, it isn’t just you.”

“He is a man of few words. Once he’s used to you he’ll open up.” Sebastian assured him, which made Anders scowl. Sebastian made it his practice to always voice something positive about everyone- something about combating his pessimism or whatever. And he was probably right, but having Sebastian be right about anything was irritating.

“Sebastian’s right,” Hawke added. He was absently scratching at his brace. Anders was tempted to grab his hand and stop him, but Hawke was too far away. So instead he stared pointedly until Hawke realized what he was doing and stopped.

“Right, leave it alone,” Hawke muttered. “Anyways, Sebastian’s right about Fenris. He’s just not that talkative with strangers.”

“He’s not talkative in general, but yeah. Fenris doesn’t hate you, Anders, you’d know if he hated you,” Varric added, and then he shuffled the card deck again. “Another round of Wicked Grace?”

“Sure, why not?” Anders muttered, and he took the cards Varric handed him and prepared to lose again. When Isabela finally came around with (thank the Maker!) a drink for Anders, she also slipped a cocktail napkin to him.

“Compliments of the bartender,” Isabela said with a wink, and then she was gone again. Anders hesitantly looked at the napkin and the words written on it in thick, black marker. The message didn’t register at first, so he read it again. And again. On about the fifth read-through, Anders was pretty sure that he was reading everything correctly and that it was real.

_My shift ends at 11 PM. Text me. Fenris - xxx-xxx-xxxx_

“What does it say? What does it say?” Merrill asked excitedly.

“Huh, Fenris has good handwriting,” Hawke remarked. “D’you think he had handwriting lessons? Had to learn script and shit?”

“Possibly,” Sebastian mused. “That looks like a variation of rotunda script, but I never paid attention during my lessons when I was a boy.”

“Fenris always manages to surprise us,” Aveline stated. “First aid skills, polyglot, the arm wrestling incident, now calligraphy.”

“What did I tell ya, Blondie, the elf likes you!” Varric said smugly. “I don’t even have his number, and I have everyone’s number.”

While the table at large devolved into a conversation over Varric’s extensive contacts list (all entries were mysterious nicknames like Chuckles or Seeker, or Ruffles and Tiny), Anders stared at the napkin and the looping script scrawled across the white paper. Text me. _Text me_. Fenris wanted to talk to him?! Why? Was he angry? Did he want to tell Anders off for being a weird stalker or something? Was he some sort of Chantry fanboy like Sebastian? No, no, he couldn’t panic. He had to be sensible. Logical. Think this through.

Fenris wanted to talk to him  
Reasonable people don’t talk to people they hate  
All of their mutual acquaintances thought that Fenris was cool. Maybe a bit quiet and stern, but cool.

So, knowing all this, Anders was almost certain that Fenris was not going to kick the shit out of him and bury him in a shallow grave. That was always good to know. Anders could handle that. This was probably an overture of friendship or something. A little bit clumsy, but still. Friendship. Friendship was good. Anders could do that.

Anders fumbled with his phone, typed Fenris’s number into his contacts, and took a deep breath. It was time to do something brave. Or stupid. He wasn’t really sure what this was. He hit the number and started to write a message.

“Uh, hi! This is Anders, btw,” he typed out, and he sent it before he could change his mind. Anders waited for what felt like forever, though it was less than a minute before he received a reply.

“Isabela took her time,” was the response from Fenris.

“That was me. Sorry,” Anders texted back hastily, nearly dropping his phone in his lap as he fumbled around and tried to reply. Fenris’s reply was quick, and Anders grinned at the text.

“Don’t be. I am terrible with small talk. I didn’t know how to ask you for your number.”

Anders couldn't help the smile on his face as he typed back to that. “Could have just asked me, u know.”

“In front of Hawke?” Oh, and Anders could hear that dry tone. Vint-ner’s, well, Fenris’s voice was so familiar that he just _knew_ it.

“Maybe not lol.” Anders replied. “So, what u want to talk bout? Sorry, I’m awkward.” Anders added more to the text rapidly, one after the other.

“Like, I’m super awkward.”

“Not even kidding.”

“Reaaaaaaalllllyyyy awkward. Hence the whole subway thing. Sorry about that,”

“Don’t apologize, I was… well, it is flattering to know I had a fan,” was Fenris’s response, followed by another text.

“I get off work in an hour. If you feel comfortable, we can talk while heading to the train platform?” Fenris suggested, and Anders’s heart nearly leapt into his throat. Conversation? With an extremely attractive man who found his awkwardness flattering? Anders was never opposed to a good bit of flirting, and he was _curious_ about Fenris.

“Sounds great! I’ll be here at the table, losing at Wicked Grace,” Anders texted eagerly.

“Varric cheats, you know,” Fenris said. “And I will figure out how he does it eventually.”

“Fenris says you cheat at Wicked Grace, Varric,” Anders said aloud as he slipped his phone into his pocket to rejoin the table’s conversation. Hawke had Varric’s phone and was scrolling through the contacts, listing off every nickname. Merrill was dutifully writing each one down as Sebastian and Aveline pretended to be offended by this breach of privacy. Varric, for his part, looked terribly amused.

“Lies and slander, I would never cheat my friends,” Varric retorted with a smile. “Let’s see if infamously gregarious Hawke can figure out all the people in my contacts list.”

“Look, some of these are damn easy. Curly is that Templar, Cullen. It’s obvious, he’s got noodle hair. Must be a bad perm. Or horrible over-washing and not using a good conditioner, which Bethany always says is super important,” Hawke lectured. “And Tiny has to be a joke. Same with Chuckles. So Tiny’s huge, and Chuckles is probably some pretentious asshole.”

“What about Sparkler? Is Sparkler very calm and not at all exciting?” Merrill asked.

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Sebastian intervened. “I’m ‘Choir Boy,’ and I was a choir boy in the Chantry.”

“Of course you were,” Varric muttered.

“And I’m Blondie. Obviously I’m blonde,” Anders added. “How do you pick nicknames for people, Varric?”

“Eh, when inspiration strikes. It has to fit, y’know?” Varric replied absently.

“So I’m still Aveline because inspiration hasn’t struck you?” Aveline asked.

“Look, I was waffling between ‘Red’ and ‘Battle-axe,’ but I think I can do better,” Varric retorted. “Fenris hasn’t gotten one yet either, but based on tonight…” Varric grinned and glanced at Anders.

“Well, I might just have to change his entry to ‘Lover Boy.’ I’ve never seen a man so smitten. That napkin bit? Smooth,” Varric teased, and even though Anders’s face was probably as red as Aveline’s hair, he couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he waited impatiently for the hour to be over. He finished his beer and forced himself to relax, but it didn’t stop him from glancing down at his phone every five minutes. By the time Fenris approached the table, his leather jacket slung over his arm, Anders was ready to jump out of his seat and go.

“Ready to go?” Fenris asked, and Anders nearly knocked over his chair as he got up and pulled his jacket on.

“Going so soon?” Hawke teased, and Anders rolled his eyes.

“I’m not losing any more games of Wicked Grace tonight, thanks,” Anders retorted. “I think I owe everyone here at least one backrub. Besides, I need to check on Pounce.” Also everyone at the table teased him every time he checked his phone, and if he and Fenris stayed here any longer Anders feared what the crew would do next. Ask Isabela to play love songs on the speakers? Suggest a game of strip poker? With Hawke and friends, one never knew what would happen.

“See you guys next week, barring a clinic emergency,” Anders promised as he zipped up his jacket, and he departed with Fenris as the table collectively said their goodbyes and ‘See you soons.” As they walked out of the bar and into the chilly night air, Anders easily caught up with Fenris’s long strides.

“Uh, not that it’s not nice to talk to you, Fenris, but, um… why?” Anders asked, and when Fenris only turned and stared at him, obviously puzzled, he quickly elaborated on his question.

“That is, I thought you… well, considering how we met, I thought you disliked me,” Anders explained. “I mean, I was staring. That’s generally considered rude. Then I started blabbering about your ASMR channel and how I recognized your hands and- Maker’s balls, that sounds creepy. I promise I’m not a creepy stalker.”

“That is certainly reassuring,” Fenris said dryly, and he came to a stop at the top of the subway stairs. “Which line are you taking?”

“Red,” Anders replied. “Uh, so, we’re cool?”

“Yes. You’re a friend of Hawke’s, and while he may be ridiculous, I trust his judgement,” Fenris said. “Besides that, my hands are easily recognizable. And I like you.” Fenris hurried down the stairs, leaving Anders at the top in utter bafflement. Fenris _liked_ him? Awkward, outspoken Anders, who could never say the right thing ever? _Him_?!

“But how? We don’t even know each other!” Anders exclaimed, hurrying down the steps to join Fenris. Fenris looked up and raised his eyebrows slightly. His expression was carefully neutral, but his sharp green eyes were… soft? Quizzically amused? Andraste’s Tits, Anders didn’t know what it was really but it made his heart soar and lodge itself somewhere in his throat. There was something about a handsome man or pretty girl looking up at him with a soft expression that made him weak at the knees.

Then Fenris smiled, and if Anders died and went to the Fade he’d probably die happy.

“Do you think your friends have never talked about you, Anders?” Fenris asked. He obviously didn’t expect an answer, and Anders waited for Fenris to keep talking as they waited for the train. While the situation was certainly bizarre and would normally put Anders on edge, Fenris’s voice was as soothing as usual. And wasn’t that strange to know that even when Fenris wasn’t whispering into a microphone he still had an almost hypnotic quality to his voice?

“I’ve learned all about you, your activism, the work you do as a Warden- I admire your dedication and fearlessness,” Fenris explained softly. “I want to get to know you, if you’re amenable.”

“Even though the first thing I said made me sound like a stalker?” Anders asked. It sounded a little too good to be true, but honestly? He believed that Fenris was telling the truth. He just had to have a little faith in Fenris. He had to have a little faith in himself.

“Honestly, I was flattered. A handsome man telling me he liked my work may have stroked my ego a little,” Fenris admitted, and Anders knew he wasn’t imagining the flush on Fenris’s cheeks. When the train arrived and they were able to board, Fenris hopped on as if he was escaping an awkward conversation. By the time Anders joined him, Fenris looked as cool and collected as he did the first time they met.

“Uh, how do you feel about coffee? Shit, I uh-” Anders cleared his throat. “I mean that I’m free for coffee. On Monday. If you want to talk and get to know me, that is.”

“I’d like that,” Fenris said slowly. “Monday. It’s a date, then?”

“Knickerweasels, yes!” Anders exclaimed, “That is, if you want?”

“Absolutely,” Fenris assured him. “I’m… I’d like that. Very much. I haven’t… well, I haven’t dated much, so please be patient with me.”

“Yeah, same here, haven’t had a date in a while,” Anders said. “My last date was definitely before I moved to Kirkwall. Haven’t really had the time or inclination to go out, but… well, I’d like to get to know you, Fenris.” Fenris’s smile could have lit up the entire train. 

“I’d like to get to know you too, Anders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris was panicking.

Perhaps panicking was an overstatement, but he was certainly nervous and uncertain, and he stared at the contents in his closet as if it were a nest full of vipers. All these clothes and nothing to wear. Choices were hard. How did you dress for a date? The internet was of no use here. There were several articles about knowing your body shape and keeping on trend but being yourself, and every single article contradicted another article. Plaid was in, florals were out. Stay with the classics, but be bold and try something new. Florals in, plaid was last season. Wear red. Wear blue. Denim over leather. Leather over denim.

This is why he stuck with black and neutrals. At least he didn’t have to _think_ about these things and break his mind over the whimsy of fashion. Fenris grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt and threw them on. Don’t overthink this, he told himself. He was going to get dressed and have a lovely coffee date with Anders.

Anders. Fenris wasn’t used to attraction and feeling desirous and desired. But Anders sparked a fire inside him. He heard all sorts of stories from Hawke about the Mage activist Warden healer who worked in Darktown, and Fenris eagerly awaited the day this mysterious, almost legendary friend of Hawke’s would finally walk into Isabela’s bar and introduce himself. Fenris might not be a storyteller like Hawke’s writer friend, but he had a deep passion for stories. Anders sounded like a man with many stories to tell. He sounded like a man who knew his own mind, and Fenris had always admired people who knew who they were. Self-discovery was something Fenris was still struggling with. His desire to find himself was part of the reason he began his ASMR channel.

When he came to Kirkwall to tend bar for Isabela, Fenris found himself horribly bored during the day. He needed a hobby. He was _desperate_ for a hobby of some kind, something to do with his time that wasn’t work and worrying about who he was, where he was going, or wondering what was the point of everything was. When Isabela suggested ASMR (“You’ve got the sort of voice that can soothe fussy babes to sleep, Fenris.”), Fenris eagerly jumped on the prospect of doing something constructive. He started with drink mixing and slowly incorporated cooking into his videos. Recently, Fenris was toying with the idea of baking- but considering that his last baking attempt was an unmitigated disaster (the bread was burnt, yet also raw?), he wasn’t sure if he should enter the fray once again. His viewers, however, were eager for more baking.

“Is it wrong that I like when he messes up? I like knowing that anyone can make mistakes and learn from them.”

“Vint-ner could read a phone book and I’ll love it.”

“Plz plz plz bake a cake plzzz!”

“OMM, CAKE! U HAVE 2 MAKE A B-DAY CAKE!!!!!1”

As Fenris tugged his shoes on and laced them tightly, he wondered what Anders would suggest he do.

To discover that the attractive, disheveled man on the train who knew about his ASMR was, in fact, this mystery healer only fanned the flames of Fenris’s curiosity. Fenris simply _had_ to know more, and while spontaneity wasn’t normally in Fenris’s wheelhouse he found himself drawn towards Anders. Hence this coffee date. 

Fenris checked the time on his phone one more time, slipped it into his jacket pocket with his keys and wallet, and made his way from his apartment down to his usual spot to take the train to the coffee shop where he agreed to meet Anders. The train ride was utterly unmemorable, and Fenris rushed down the streets, the icy air hitting his face like sharp little knives as he ran until he found his way to the coffee shop. Fenris opened the door and shuffled inside. The hot, coffee and sugar scented air melted against his skin, and Fenris pulled off his knitted cap and unwound the scarf from around his neck as he looked around the shop to try and find Anders. He didn’t have to look too hard. It wasn’t like tall, lanky men with strawberry blonde hair were a common sight in Kirkwall.

“Fenris! You actually made it!” Anders exclaimed from his table. He stood up and nearly knocked his cup of coffee over.

“Knickerweasels! Um, hold on, I’ll just- excuse me, sorry,” Anders muttered as he tried to untangle himself from his seat and the many things hanging off his seat. Bag, jacket, scarves (either multiple scarves or an extra long scarf in a rainbow of colors), and long limbs were a frantic mess that was nearly teetering off the chair- well, Fenris corrected himself, Anders was a frantic mess nearly teetering off his chair.

“Please don’t, I’ll join you,” Fenris said as he crossed the floor and took the seat across from Anders. Anders looked- he looked good. His hair was a little disheveled, and his face was flushed. Cute. Fasta vass, how was he supposed to have a _conversation_ with this man without embarrassing himself?

This is why Fenris wrote notes. No one could possibly misinterpret a note.

“Maker’s Balls, you didn’t see all that,” Anders said breathlessly, his brown eyes bright and lively.

“Of course not,” Fenris replied with a grin.

“I told you that I’m a bit of a mess, right?” Anders asked, his face pinched with anxiety. “I’m positive I told you that I’m a mess. Constantly. ” Anders laughed at his own comment, and the corners of his eyes scrunched up with little wrinkles.

“You may have said something to that effect,” Fenris said. “Though you look fine to me.” More than fine, truth be told. Anders’s nervous smile unwound the little ball of anxiety lodged in Fenris’s throat. Anders was nervous too. That was… perhaps not good, but it felt nice to know that Fenris wasn’t alone.

“So, it’s… well, it’s really nice to talk to you again. In person,” Anders said before sipping on his coffee. “Uh, want a drink? I can order-”

“I’ll get something in a bit,” Fenris replied.

“Right. Um, so, not that it has to be, but is this… a date?” Anders asked, sounding a little shy.

Good question. Fenris would be lying if he said he didn’t intend for this meeting to take a somewhat romantic bend. Why else would he have been so frantic about getting dressed this morning? Why did he send that series of frantic texts to Isabela begging for advice if he _didn’t_ want to make a good impression? Why else did looking into Anders’s thin face and pretty brown-gold eyes make his heart skip a beat? Yes, Fenris was interested, and yes, he would like this meeting to turn into a date, but still…

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Fenris said carefully. “If you’re amenable.”

Anders laughed, bright and loud, filling the coffee shop and Fenris’s ears with that warm sound.

“Amenable? Maker’s Balls, Fenris, I’m _very_ interested,” Anders replied breathlessly, and Fenris felt like his face might crack from all the smiling he was doing. But it was nice. Better than nice. Fenris let himself relax and enjoy his time with Anders. They talked about work, Kirkwall, their friends, hobbies, Anders’s cat (Fenris was fascinated by the cat’s various expressions), and Fenris’s ASMR channel. And when they were done, Anders suggested another date, Fenris accepted, and they agreed to meet again.

They keep on meeting for dates, and conversations turn to hand-holding to kisses in the shadowy corners of Isabela’s bar and sunny picnics on the coast. And as they grow closer together, Fenris and Anders find their lives weaving and intersecting together in interesting ways. For example, Fenris often finds himself at the store purchasing tins of wet cat food and little bags of cat treats that he knows Pounce enjoys, partly for the cat’s pleasure and partly for the kiss he knows Anders will bestow upon him when he sees his cat being spoiled.

Anders, on the other hand…

“So, you’re going to need more butter for that crust,” Anders said firmly as he observed Fenris in the kitchen. 

“But I’ve used-”

“Yes, I know, but an apple tart isn’t _healthy_ , Fenris,” Anders lectured. “It’s a _treat_. More butter.”

“Disgusting,” Fenris grumbled, but he weighed out more butter on Anders’s orders. Anders was a passable cook, but as a baker? Anders had a (no joke intended) magical touch. Fenris was willing to defer to the greater baker, but Anders was determined to teach him the ways of the baker. He could bake a passable loaf of bread, and now Anders challenged him with an apple tart. Luckily, Fenris always rose to meet challenges head on. Fenris kneaded the dough. Anders drank his tea and critiqued Fenris’s technique. Fenris snuck a bite of an apple slice, and Anders scolded him.

And it was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might write some short stories with these ideas, but I wanted to finish this fic first. Thank you all for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that this was acceptable! Thanks for reading!


End file.
